by Regan Black
Laney’s scowl turned ferocious. “You believe someone here in Shutter Lake is trafficking teens?”
“Why else would anyone want to kill Sylvia and Josie?”
“And you,” Griff said. He and Laney exchanged a glance. “I’m concerned that you were attacked last night, shortly after stopping by the station.”
Before she had a chance to process that detail, Laney tossed out another question.
“When did Sylvia decide to search for Josie in Venezuela? What prompted her to start down that path?”
“One of her clients had a pornography habit,” Ana replied. “While cleaning, she found pictures of a girl closely resembling Josie on a site labeled as Viva Venezuela. With the site name matching Josie’s home country, she thought it was worth the trip.”
“Child porn is a crime,” Laney grumbled. “She should’ve brought this to us,”
“She didn’t want the pornography addict she wanted Josie. She grilled her client for information and then she confided in me. She didn’t want to worry Josie’s parents unnecessarily. I knew the language better than she did and I’d dealt with trafficked victims during my residency years so I knew a bit of the system. I had a better idea what to look for.”
“Look for?” Griff echoed.
Ana paused. She would be more comfortable walking a tightrope over a canyon. “From what I’ve learned, traffickers are sneaky by design and extremely cautious. Sylvia was insisting on going to Venezuela alone. I was teaching her how to be alert and aware so she didn’t become a victim.”
“Did either of you consider that the site this possible-Josie was on might be somewhere other than Venezuela?” Laney demanded. “For God’s sake it happens all the time!”
“Yes, of course. But it was the logical starting point in Sylvia’s mind. That is where Josie was supposed to be going when she disappeared.”
Laney actually growled and Griff dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the table. When he looked up his eyes were as serious and somber as she’d ever seen them.
“Dr. Perez, let’s get back to my jurisdiction and the local issue. Both Sylvia and Josie were found here in Shutter Lake. Who did Sylvia suspect was responsible for Josie’s disappearance?”
There was no reason to hold back, not now that the recording devices were off. It seemed more and more likely that she’d have to run to survive this. She would give them everything she knew before she took off.
“Well, the Windermeres were at the top of her list,” Ana admitted. “They’ve hosted most of the exchange students through the years. It’s the most direct connection.”
“You leave Mr. and Mrs. Windermere alone,” Laney snapped.
Startled, Ana held up her hands in surrender. “Sylvia was using her unique access to find the local connection,” she continued. If not the Windermeres, who else had been close enough to Josie to snatch her?”
“Unique access?” Laney echoed. “As is snooping in the homes of her clients?”
Before Ana could answer, Griff asked, “Were you assisting her in any other manner?”
“My only contribution was to listen as Sylvia sorted theory from fact and to find what I could on the trafficking side.”
Laney fumed.
Griff arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“A few of the trafficked victims I treated were brave enough to give me names.” She reached into her purse. “I passed the information on to the authorities at the time.”
“But you kept the list anyway?” Laney tilted her head.
She shrugged. “I kept it in my files. It was a natural instinct.” Wedged between the names of three operators in California and Texas, Sergio Rojas was listed along with the last known cell phone number she had for her father. “This is all the documentation I have.”
Laney plucked up the small plastic bag with the short list of names and numbers. “This is it?”
“I’m sorry. Yes.” Ana struggled to maintain eye contact as the helplessness swamped her. There had to be a way to help Laney find Sylvia’s killer. “So far, I haven’t found a connection between the names on that list and residents of Shutter Lake.”
“You realize this could implicate you as the connection.”
Ana gaped at her friend. Would Laney ever see her the same way again?
“Easy, Holt,” Griff said. “You worked on this, even after Sylvia died?” he queried.
“I have,” Ana admitted. “I believed Josie was still in trouble and I desperately wanted to find something actionable to bring to you.” She shook her head. “I had no idea Josie was already…dead.”
Laney tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling a long moment. “You weren’t obstructing,” she said. “But together we might have gotten to the bottom of this before the killer took aim at Sylvia.”
Ana didn’t argue. They’d never know. She wanted to hang on to the rest, but she couldn’t do that to her friend again. “There’s one more thing.”
Laney arched her eyebrows and spread her arms wide. “We’re still listening.”
“Sylvia told me she planned to notify the FBI and she promised to store all her research on a, umm, a dead man’s switch,” she said, recalling the term Troy had used. “Either it didn’t work or it hasn’t come through yet.”
Laney and Griff exchanged a look. “Do you know the name of the FBI agent she spoke with?” Griff asked.
Ana shook her head. “No.” She waited as another long look passed between Griff and Laney.
“On it.” Laney slapped her hands to the table as she stood. “I’ll go back through Sylvia’s phone and computer. At the office too.” She got up and stalked out of the room.
Griff pinned Ana with another hard gaze as she started to rise. “You stay.” She resumed her seat, wondering if he’d changed his mind about charging her. “You hurt her feelings.” He leaned his shoulders against the closed door. “I know that’s a surprise since she pretends she doesn’t have them anymore.”
“If I could change the past, I would,” she said with complete honesty.
Griff tilted his head. “You’re too compassionate to cause pain intentionally.” He stepped forward, grabbed the chair and swiveled it around. He sat, straddling the seat, bracing his forearms on the back. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He sighed. “You’re valuable, Ana. I’ll tell you this investigation has pulled back the veil on several residents. So far, Laney and I are doing what we can to minimize any long-term damage and keep the community spirit and faith strong.”
“That’s admirable, Griff. Shutter Lake is better because you’re here as the police chief.”
He stared at her a long time. She didn’t flinch this time, a lifetime of practice serving to keep her emotions, darkest desires and secrets well hidden.
He blinked first. “The city council vetted you and invited you to be a vital leader here. If there’s something I need to know to keep you safe, now’s the time to share it.”
She shook her head. Even if she had the courage to tell him, knowing her secrets would make him vulnerable. “Did you find any helpful evidence at my house?”
“Three bullets, just as you heard. Your glass door is repaired. I stuck around for that. We have the bullet that ended up in your fireplace and the one from the railing.”
“Do you think you’ll get anything on the ballistics?”
“I sent it to the county lab. Time will tell.” He stacked his hands. “Did Sylvia suspect anyone other than the Windermeres?”
“Not that I was aware of.”
“I hope that’s an honest answer, Ana, because someone—maybe someone right here in this town—is targeting you. Literally. It would be easier to protect you if I could narrow the suspect pool.”
Ana understood how it might look that way to him. She still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that her father had found her and was finally exacting his vengeance. “Griff, I’ve reviewed my patient files, looking bac
k at appointments and treatments in search of a clue about a local suspect. I don’t like the idea that I’ve been treating a killer.”
She’d surprised him with that admission. “Well, I guess we’ll all keep digging.” he stood, turned the chair around and tucked it under the table. “I’ve made arrangements to have someone keep an eye on you. Protection,” he clarified.
“Thank you.” She appreciated the warning.
If Griff had her house under surveillance she would adjust her escape accordingly. This time, when she ran, she could not afford to leave any kind of trail.
Chapter Eleven
Yolanda came out of a dreamless sleep and rolled over to check the clock. It was just past three a.m., the world quiet and dark and still. Too quiet. Normally Zion would be snoring beside her. His absence must have woken her.
She curled into the pillow, ridiculously relieved that she’d slept for three straight hours. A new record thanks to the medicine Dr. Perez had prescribed. She stretched out and found Zion’s pillow cool. He must have been up for some time. She really needed to convince him to set an appointment at the clinic. It couldn’t be healthy to bury his grief in work, keeping the same hours he’d kept in his thirties.
No, they weren’t old, just older. And grieving. The combination was dreadful.
She heard Zion’s voice downstairs, low and intense. Angry. For a moment she thought it was an effect of the medicine. Who would he be speaking to at this hour?
She slipped out of bed and shrugged into her silk robe, determined to bring him back to bed. Staying up all night would only exacerbate the stress of the service and reception this afternoon.
At the top of the stairs she hesitated. His tone had changed again. This wasn’t a typical chat with a new client or broker overseas. He was snapping out orders now, in that ruthless tone that tolerated no argument or excuse. And he was giving those orders in French.
She started back to bed when she heard several familiar words. Someone or some deal was dead. Fresh cattle would come in by the weekend for an auction.
What on earth?
As his loyal and devoted wife she sympathized with his need to work through the sharpest edges of their grief. He’d done everything to comfort her, shelter her, while holding the police department and investigators accountable for finding Sylvia’s killer.
He made decisions and followed through, she thought, listening to his unyielding voice. His voice turned so cold, she shivered, shrinking back to the bedroom. This side of him had always unnerved her. Whoever was on the other end of that call should realize by now that any argument was futile.
Sylvia and Zion used to argue happily for hours over silly things, debating topics and issues from various points of view. He’d taught her to think for herself and when she made a decision to know why so she could defend her point of view.
It made for loud dinner table discussion once in a while when they found things they would never agree on, but the goal had always been to empower their daughter and make her strong.
They’d done that. Her daughter had been remarkably self-sufficient. She’d become a light within the community, a respected business leader and a champion of those less fortunate.
In the darkness, Yolanda nestled into the chair near the window, tucking her feet up under the robe. What on earth had come between Zion and Sylvia in those last few weeks? She’d asked him about it over a dinner of homemade pizza and he’d flicked it away, as if Sylvia’s temper didn’t matter to him at all.
She knew that wasn’t true. From the day she was born, he’d always been respectful and mindful of Sylvia’s feelings.
Yolanda walked into the house cradling Sylvia’s dog in the crook of her arm. The little guy looked so healthy and happy, yet he only had a few weeks to live.
A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly swiped it away. Better if Sylvia didn’t find her crying when she came home from school. Yolanda set the dog on the floor and unclipped the leash. He trotted to his water bowl and then curled up in his bed to wait for his little girl.
Oh her heart was already breaking.
“What did the vet say?” Zion asked as he crouched to scratch the dog’s ears.
“Bone cancer. A few weeks at best.” She sniffled. “Sylvie will be devastated.”
“No chance of treatment?”
She shook her head. “Well, his lungs were clear today on the x-ray. If we amputate, we might get another few months, but there’s no guarantee and the recovery would be stressful for him. It seems like a lot to ask of such a little guy.”
“It does.” He scooped up the dog, cradling him gently in his arms.
“Sylvie will be so upset,” Yolanda said. “Maybe we should get a second opinion.”
“There’s no need to drag it out. Bone cancer only means suffering. For him and all of us too.” He tickled the dog’s belly. “I’ll handle it. You know I’d do anything to spare you and Sylvie.” He shifted the little dog around and snapped his neck.
“Zion!”
“Quick and painless,” he said. “Better for everyone.” He strode out to the back yard and laid the limp body of the dog on the grass under a shade tree. “I’ll bury him now and we’ll tell her he ran away.”
“How is that any better?”
“Quick and painless,” he repeated. “Better than letting our little girl watch him die slowly. She has other, healthy animals here to distract her.”
“You didn’t give her any chance to say goodbye.”
“Yolanda,” he snapped out her name like a whip. “Enough. It’s done. Watching him waste away would have been worse for all of us.”
Yolanda hugged her knees to her chest. She hadn’t thought of that day in ages, had deliberately blocked it from her mind. Sylvia had been so sad when her dog never came home. She’d made posters and as a family they’d searched for hours and hours over the following days.
Yolanda rubbed at the ache in her chest as she recalled her daughter’s pain. The dog’s fate remained a secret between her and Zion.
She supposed it was natural to think back to that terrible day now, as they prepared to bury their only child. Much like Sylvia had no idea what had happened to her dog, Yolanda had no comprehension of who wanted her daughter dead.
Zion walked in and the bedside lamp caught his features in a slash of light and shadows. His eyes were as cold as his voice had been until he found her sitting in the chair. Instantly, his gaze softened, though a distinct wariness remained when he knelt beside her.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“Me too.” Her voice shook with unshed tears and questions too terrible to contemplate.
“Did I wake you?”
Suddenly, she knew the truth would be the wrong answer. “No. Just shaking off another bad dream. The one where she walks in for dinner…”
That was all she had to say before he shushed her and pulled her close to the hard wall of his chest. His embrace had always soothed her in the past, now her nerves jangled. His hand smoothed her hair, his long fingers massaging the tension from her neck.
Yolanda shivered under his touch, remembering the dog. Her husband was no saint, but surely he hadn’t killed his daughter.
She eased away from him, her hand over his heart.
“Tell me what you need,” he said.
“Answers,” she replied. “Barring that, I suppose it will just take time.”
“We’ll get the answers,” he vowed, his gaze earnest. “The reward will bring in the right lead.”
“It’s so much money, Zion.”
“Doesn’t matter. You know I’d do anything to spare you, my love. Always have, always will.”
She turned away, her gaze drawn like a magnet to the spot under the tree where a little dog had been buried to spare Sylvie pain.
Did he realize what he’d said? She told herself the overwhelming grief was twisting the words around in her mind. The sleeping pills must be blurring past and present, reality and nightmare.
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday October 17
Early Wednesday morning Ana zipped up her black sheath dress. With an expert touch learned at an early age, she applied her makeup, covering the minor discolorations and scrapes on her face. The only evidence that remained was the bandage on her hand and she switched that out for a smaller, less obvious covering that was a closer match to her skin tone. She scooped her hair into an elegant French twist and finished the look with her pearl necklace and small pearl stud earrings.
On her way to the kitchen, she passed the shoes she’d polished last night and left near the front door, a somber reminder of her responsibilities today. She would catch up on paperwork at the clinic until noon, and then go say her final farewell to a dear friend.
She brewed a cup of coffee, adding a splash of cream today. Not the greatest breakfast, but it would suffice. Her stomach was still too unsettled for any real food.
Last night, restless after the interview, she’d alternately refreshed her phone and email, hoping some helpful clue would arrive from Sylvia. She remained disappointed on that front.
Preparing for the worst, she’d drafted her resignation letter and filed it away, along with a handwritten apology to Laney. Naturally, she hadn’t slept well, her mind sifting through every conversation she and Sylvia had ever had about Josie, the trafficking, and what to do next.
Who in Shutter Lake was capable of murdering two people, possibly three if she added in the still-missing Agent Adler. Who would also want to shoot at her?
She yanked her mind away from those questions. It wasn’t her job to figure it out. She’d done her part, turning over the little she knew to the police. Her plate was plenty full with simultaneously juggling her role as the town physician and tiptoeing around the issue of how she became an expert on human trafficking.